


Hamish Mycroft Watson- Holmes Is Born

by joinallthefandoms



Series: The Story Of How The Lonely Detective With A Skull Found Himself With A Family [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Birth, Fluff, M/M, New Baby, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:37:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joinallthefandoms/pseuds/joinallthefandoms





	Hamish Mycroft Watson- Holmes Is Born

Molly’s screams resonated in the delivery room as she pushed and pushed and yet still got no where. She figured a child of John Watson’ would just toughen up and get the hell out of her, but no, the little bastard was insistent on staying put. John and Sherlock stood on Molly’s right hand side, encouraging Molly as the baby began crowning. Sherlock tried to remain stoic as Molly squeezed the life out of him through his hand, which was starting to turn purple at the tips of his fingers. But, he was willing to do anything to ease her through this, even if it meant the loss of his bloody hand.

Suddenly, a baby’s cries filled the room. John was weeping like a newborn baby himself, and even Sherlock felt tears forming in his eyes (it wasn’t even from the pain in his hand, either).

“It’s a boy!” Came the announcement from the nurse that was gingerly wrapping the screaming newborn in a blanket. She wiped the various fluids from his head and body before handing him to John. Molly needed a moment to recuperate before she was able to hold him, but she too was beaming at the little ray of sunshine.

John and Sherlock leaned over their baby, each feeling an overwhelming plethora of pride, happiness, and utter content. The Watson-Holmes baby began to calm down as his stark blue eyes met John’s light blue and then Sherlock’s gray. Sherlock swore that he saw the boy smile, even though science dictated that he probably just imagined it. Sherlock Holmes felt a surge of sentiment as his son was passed from John to him. Never in his life would he have ever dared to imagine that someone would love him enough to have a child with him, to even tolerate him enough to share a flat with him.

“Look how far we’ve come,” he whispered, tenderly stroking his son’s head with his forefinger. John pressed a light kiss to his husband’s protruding cheekbone, startled but infinitely pleased to taste the salt of his tears.

“Sir, we’re going to have to take your son to get washed, weighed, registered, and the like,” the nurse said, watching the enraptured parents as they reluctantly handed their kid over to her. When the nurses urged them to leave the room so Molly could get fixed up, John and Sherlock individually went up to their savior Molly Hooper and pressed a kiss to her forehead, both feeling immensely grateful for the gift she had given them.

Half an hour in the waiting room had John and Sherlock happily curled up on a bench, sipping the awful coffee from the lunchroom. Night had long since fallen and was actually fading into morning as they were invited into a different, temporary room where they found Molly holding the baby to her chest. John and Sherlock shared a kiss of utter euphoria and disbelief before they walked, hand in hand, over to Molly.

“Molly, we really can’t thank you enough for this,” Sherlock said emotionally. John and Molly looked at their favorite sociopath in slight surprise at the blatant sentiment he was showing. Sherlock Holmes never ceased to amaze them.

“I was more than happy to do it. I still am, you know, if you want more,” Molly’s voice had gone a bit hoarse, what from her screaming and whatnot, but she was simply glowing with satisfaction and happiness.

“I think this little one will be enough for a while,” John chuckled. Sherlock wrapped an arm around his husband, pulling him close.

“What are we going to name him?” Sherlock asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Well, he got my DNA, so you can pick the name, I think,” John said seriously.

“Really?” Sherlock seemed delighted.

“Every man in my family has been ‘John’ for the past century. I don’t think I’d come up with the most creative name,” John joked.

“And you rather I, Sherlock Holmes, brother of Mycroft, will come up with anything better?” The trio laughed heartily, all relishing in comradery and the simplicity of just being in each other’s company. John and Molly continued to talk but Sherlock just kept his eyes on his son, who had fallen asleep and was surely the most precious thing in the universe.

“Hamish,” Sherlock whispered. John and Molly stopped their laughing for a moment.

“What was that, Sherlock?” John asked.

“Hamish Mycroft Watson-Holmes. That’s his name.”

“Why Hamish? Why-? Wait. Did you say Mycroft?” John asked in disbelief.

“Yes.”

“You despise Mycroft.”

“So?” John just shook his head and chuckled. He had long since stopped trying to understand his husband’s reasoning behind the strange things he did. It was true, he wasn’t fond of the name Hamish, but when he looked at his son, he couldn’t help but reluctantly admit that the terrible name was made so much more beautiful because it was his.

“Hamish Mycroft Watson-Holmes, born 7 pounds 5 ounces and 18 inches on the 19th of September, 2015, at 3:09 A.M,” Sherlock recited. Of course the git has already memorized all there is to know about our child, John affectionately thought to himself. Hamish Watson-Holmes was coming home to 221B Baker Street later that day, where a plethora of baby stuff (supplied by none other than the British Government himself) awaited him. When John shook himself from his momentary reverie, he looked up to find that Sherlock had taken the sleeping Hamish from Molly’s arms (she had fallen asleep as well) and he was now cradling him in his forearm. His head was supported by Sherlock’s massive hand and his body by his equally massive forearm. It was an unconventional way to hold a baby, sure, but he expected nothing less of Sherlock Holmes.

Involuntarily grinning at the sight of his husband holding their son, John stood on his tip toes and pressed a loving kiss to Sherlock’s lips, Hamish sandwiched between them.

 

 


End file.
